Best Laid Plans
by tec4cleveland
Summary: This story is part of what those who visited my old website know as the "GA" universe, born out of my fascination w/Cajun culture. In "Best Laid Plans", Paulie (Caje) & T'eo 'borrow' a pirogue to try to have an adventure, only to get lost, which triggers a conflict in the already strained relationship between Denis (Paulie's dad) and his Uncle (or 'Nonc', in Cajun) Pierre.
1. Chapter 1

**Set in Louisiana, Summer, 1925**

[A/N: © 2014, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine]

"May I go now, please?"

"Are you done eating?"

Nine-year-old Paul LeMay glared at the detested cold _couche couche_ left in his bowl. He shook his head. "No."

"Then there's your answer, Paul." His father looked at him over the top of his newspaper. "Finish your food. There are hungry people out there who would be glad to have it."

"Then let t'em come and eat it," Paul muttered mutinously, under his breath.

"Did you say something?" The newspaper lowered a little more, a sure storm warning.

"No, sir." Paul retreated.

"Eat your breakfast. You have chores to do this morning, young man." The newspaper went back to full mast.

Paul quietly began scraping out his dish. He didn't understand what the new laws were he'd heard Papa arguing about with _Nonc_ Pierre, but it sure seemed to make the grownups cranky, especially his Papa. _Nonc_ Pierre had made most of the furniture in Denis LeMay's snug yellow house halfway between Bayou Liberté and the heart of New Orleans, and after some of Papa and _Nonc_ Pierre's fights, he almost expected to come home one day after school and find all of the furniture thrown out on the curb. Papa had been that angry.

Across the kitchen table, his little sister, Hélène, smiled at him, trying to make him feel better. As little sisters went, Paul thought, she wasn't too bad. At least she didn't cry all the time, like Nanny Caissy, Joe's little sister, and she usually didn't demand to tag along with Paul and his _ami_, Theo Dubois. He smiled back, a little. Today of all days, he needed to finish his chores and make a quick getaway.

"I'm done now. May I be excused?"

"Yes, Paulie. Go do your chores."

"_Oui, Maman_."

Denis LeMay glared at his son over the newspaper again. "How many times do I have to tell you, Paul? English!"

"Yes, Papa," Paul said, giving the word its English intonation rather than the French. Louisiana was determined to integrate its Cajun citizens into the mainstream and had recently passed laws restricting teaching in and of the Acadian French they spoke. Denis supported this initiative wholeheartedly; his brother, Pierre, opposed it just as vocally.

Paul ran out to sweep the porch of the leaves that had fallen. He knew that today he had to bring in wood for the cookstove and water for priming the indoor pump. He hurried through the sweeping, trying to estimate if there was enough wood in the shed, or if he'd have to gather more.

Denis came out onto the porch carrying files, heading for his office. He adjusted his tie and tugged down his vest, which had grown somewhat snug over the past couple of years. _I should really t'ink about eating a little less._ He sighed and then sneezed; Paul was being a little too enthusiastic in his sweeping. "Take your time, Paul! You know better than that!" Denis shook dust from his thinning black hair.

"Yes, sir." Paul slowed down his pace; he also knew better than to disagree.

"And I'd better not hear you were running the bayou today with Theo! Why can't you play here in town with Willy Johnston or Jim Buford?" It was an old argument that had devolved into a rhetorical question. There was no point in Paul explaining that neither Willy nor Jim wanted anything to do with him. And short of ordering Paul to stay away from Theo, there was nothing Denis could do. He was not quite ready to completely sever his ties to the community he'd grown up in, and there was nothing objectionable about Theo, the son of his oldest friend, as such. He just wanted to see his son assimilate and be more than "Cajun". For a lot of Louisianans, that was just marginally better than a swear word. He walked to the sidewalk to wait for the streetcar, turning to look back at his son for a moment. _He's smart and he has so much spirit. I just need to find a way to harness that and help him find his niche – outside the bayou_.

Paul was struggling with the heavy water bucket when he felt something hit him in the back. "T'eo! Stop t'at!"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You make so much noise, who else could it be, _coo-yôn_? Don't bump me. As soon as I get the water in the house I t'ink I can go. Are you ready?"

"Ready as I can be, _mon vieux_!"

Paul's hazel eyes met Theo's dark blue ones. "_Vieux_ means 'old', T'eo. I'm only nine, so I am not old. Don't call me t'at."

"Ok, _mon vieux_!" Theo gave his friend a sunny grin that went well with his blond curls.

"T'eo, if _maman_ didn't need this water, I'd dump it on you. You're hopeless." Paul shook his head.

"Hey, my _Nonc_ Marcel calls your _Nonc_ Pierre that, and they're not old either." Theo held the kitchen door for Paul, who carefully brought in the bucket and thumped it down in the corner.

Paul brushed back his thick black hair with his hand and took a deep breath. "_Nonc_ Pierre is thirty, or almost. That's pretty old." His uncle, or _Nonc_ in bayou patois, was the rock of Paul's life, kind where Denis was strict, understanding where his father was prone to criticize. He could count on _Nonc_ Pierre to listen to him and offer advice or support when he had a problem, while Denis, caught up in his own concerns, tended to put Paul's problems on the back burner. I love _Nonc_ Pierre more than I do _Papa_, he thought. Maybe I ought to feel guilty about t'at, but I don't.

"Yeah. Guess I didn't t'ink about it t'at way."

Annette came into the kitchen, lifted her apron off its hook and tied it on. She looked at the two boys and thought sadly about how Denis' stubbornness might break apart this friendship, which existed from the moment the two boys met as just more than infants.

"_Maman_," Paul said. "My chores are done. I swept the porch and I brought in wood and water. Can I go play with T'eo?"

She looked at her son fondly. _My handsome _'tit fils_, wit' your beautiful eyes and winning smile. Ah, _garçon_, you are gonna break hearts, I can tell. _ "Yes, Paulie. But be back before your papa comes home." _All of Denis' rules! I know I ought to stop him speakin' _le français_, too, but …_

There was a warning in her eyes Paul understood very well. "_Oui, Maman_." He hugged her quickly and went to the icebox to get the lunch he knew she had packed for them. "_C'est parti_, T'eo."

"_Merci, Madame_ LeMay."

"_De rien_, Theo."

The two boys turned and ran out.

"_Mouton, mouton, où vas-tu? À l'abattoir. Quand reviendras-tu? __Jamais_! Baaaaaa!"

In his workshop on Bayou Liberté, Pierre LeMay stood up from the table where he was working on the sketch of a dining room table, and stretched. He pretended to glare at his partner and old friend. "Marcel, did you have to teach t'em dat annoying little song?"

Marcel grinned. "Have to? _Non_. But you must admit, _mon vieux_, that it makes an admirable warning dat t'ey are coming,_non_?" He turned the sketch around and began writing down dimensions on his list of wood to be cut.

Pierre scratched his beard and sighed. "I suppose so. Although I t'ink I'd rather just have t'em knock at t'e door." He walked out of the workshop next to his small clapboard house and onto his pier. Michel Caissy, who rowed people around the bayou on his pirogue, left the boys off. Pierre put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "What are you two _terreurs_ doing here?"

They climbed the ladder and stood, trying their hardest to look angelic and harmless. Theo nudged Paul. "Go on," he whispered. "He's your _Nonc_!" Theo watched Paul face his uncle, and thought that looking between his friend and Pierre LeMay was like looking at a before and after picture of the same person twenty years apart. And though he couldn't see it himself, the same could be said of him and his _Nonc _Marcel.

Paul tried his best ingratiating grin. "_Nonc_ Pierre, we – I mean T'eo and me – we wanted to go out into the bayou, and well, have an adventure! We just need your pirogue!"

"My pirogue, eh." Pierre LeMay put his hand over his mouth. He looked as though he was considering their request, but was, in fact, trying very hard not to laugh at the two scamps' attempt at innocence. "'Ey, Marcel_. viens-t'en!"_ When Marcel came out of the workshop, Pierre continued. "T'ese two rogues are plannin' an adventure, and all dey need is my pirogue. What you t'ink o' t'at?"

"T'eo!" Marcel reached for his nephew, who ducked behind Paul to avoid his _Nonc_ Marcel's traditional head rub. "Well, I don't know, Pierre. What kind of adventure, eh?" He tilted his head and pretended to scowl at the two boys.

"Yes, Marcel. That's a very good question. What kind of adventure requires my pirogue?"

"We want to explore someplace new like we never been at before," Theo said before Paul could open his mouth. "Joe Caissy said about a place where t'ere might be treasure, and we wanna go see."

"What if dere are _caimons_ dere, eh?" Marcel shook his head. "Pierre, do t'ese two bougs look like dey'd make more than a bite or two for any good-sized _caimon_?"

"Not to me!" He looked at Marcel and they burst out laughing.

"I got the knife you gave me for Christmas last year, _Nonc_ Pierre. I can take care of us!" Paul was indignant at his _Nonc_'s lack of trust.

Pierre and Marcel looked at each other. "Oh, yes, Paulie. T'at's much better. Definitely makes it all right." Pierre shook his head, and the two of them laughed again.

The two boys looked at each other, deflated. "Does this mean you won't lend us your boat?" Paul persisted.

Pierre squatted down in front of his nephew, suddenly serious. "No, I won't, Paulie. _Gar ici_, dere's two reasons. One, I need it myself. Me an' Marcel are goin' out t'do some cuttin' for some new furniture I'm makin'. And two," he put his hand on Paul's head, "if I could go with you, it would be different, but you two shouldn't be running the bayou alone. How do you two t'ink your _mamans_ and _papas_ would feel, or Marcel or I would feel, if you got hurt, or _le Bon Dieu_ forbid," he crossed himself, "got killed? You both know how dangerous the bayou can be. Besides, Paulie, your papa and I aren't exactly getting along right now. Like as not, he'd never let you come back here if I did anything that would get you hurt, and I'd deserve him bein' mad at me if I did. Would you want dat?"

Paul shook his head. "No." He rushed at Pierre and hugged him. "I wouldn't want dat at all."

Pierre hugged Paul back, ruffled his hair and stood. "Bien. You boys go find a place to play and Saturday, you an' me an' T'eo, we'll go shrimping. Dat sound good, Paulie? T'eo?"

"Yes, sir," the two of them chorused, not exactly enthusiastically.

"Good. Now get moving. I have work to do."

"Cutting wood. Some work," Paul mumbled, disappointed, as he and Theo climbed down. He didn't know his _Nonc_ had heard him, and was hurt by his disdain. It would be years before he realized and made it right.

"So now what do we do?" Theo picked his way across a hummock of grass and reached back to give Paul a hand.

Paul sighed deeply and gave the matter some thought. If only Papa had a boat; I know I could use dat. He didn't understand why his father didn't seem to want to be Cajun anymore. He remembered good times when he was very young, when he and his family would go to _fais do dos_ and Mardi Gras and his _papa_ would have as much fun as anyone there, matching drinks with T'eo's papa and dancing long into the night with _Maman_. But things had somehow changed since then, and now Denis LeMay was an entirely different person than the one his son only dimly remembered.

"T'eo, you understand all the _potain_ about bein' Cajun?"

"Nope." Theo looked at his friend sideways. "I know your papa and my papa don't get along so good anymore. My papa agrees with your _Nonc_ Pierre and your papa don't. All about some stupid laws."

"I hate that he don't even want me to speak _le Français_ no more around him. You've heard him. What am I gonna do in school next year when I take regular French? And he and _Papère_ don't talk no more either. It's like _Papa's_ 'shamed of us. Of what we are."

Theo put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "But we're always gonna be friends, right?"

"Always, T'eo. No matter what. Like brothers." Then, as it occurred to him, "Although, since _Papa_ and _Nonc_ Pierre are brothers and they don't get along too good, maybe that ain't a good way to put it right now, eh?"

Their laughter soaked into the Spanish moss that hung thickly from the trees around them.

Then Paul had a thought: "T'eo, what about my _Papère_ LeMay?"

"You're kidding, right?" Theo gave Paul a 'you oughta know better' look. "Your _Papère_ LeMay is never home half de time. He's probably out wandering around himself."

"Well, den, what about your _Papère_'s boat?"

Theo stood stock still. "Dat might do it." Jacques Dubois was in the hospital in New Orleans proper, and no one was watching – or as far as the boys knew, using – his property. He looked at his friend, eyes shining. "Let's go!"

"Hello, little one." Denis reached over the fence of his home and picked up Hélène for a hug. He was in a good mood. Circling around the one-story house, he came in through the kitchen door carrying his daughter and kissed Annette on the cheek. Looking around, he realized someone was missing. "Where's Paul?"

"He should be back before long. You're back early yourself."

"Business was good today. I decided I would give myself permission to leave." He leaned appreciatively over the stove. "That smells good, dear." He went to the icebox and took out a pitcher of lemonade. Denis wasn't thrilled about Prohibition, but he wasn't a lawbreaker like a lot of the people he knew, in and out of the bayou. "Besides, it was too hot in the office to get any work done. So where did Paul go?"

"Just out to play. He was supposed to be back before you would normally be home, so he may be a little while yet."

"Hmph." He heard the relatively unfamiliar sound of a Model A pulling up in front of the house, and went into the small but tastefully furnished living room to peer out of the window. "That's Thierry Dubois. And Yvette." His jaw set and he turned to look at his wife. "Paul's out with Theo, isn't he?"

"Yes." She turned to stir the pot on the stove.

Denis took a deep breath and bit back a comment as he went to answer the knock at the kitchen door. "Thierry, Yvette. It's good to see you."

"_Et toi aussi_, Denis. Annette, I swear you grow _plus_ _belle_ by t'e day!"

"_Merci_, Thierry. Yvette, it's good to see you."

Denis glanced at his wife, but said nothing. _Paul's the important one. I have to pick my battles._

"_Et toi aussi_, Annette."

"We t'ought we'd come get T'eo on our way home. Save 'im the walk."

Annette said, surprised, "T'eo's not here."

Thierry exchanged glances with his wife. "He's not?"

"No, he came over dis morning and he and Paul took off. I thought they were going to your house."

Yvette shook her head. "I haven't seen T'eo since dis mornin' and I haven't seen Paulie at all."

Denis took a deep breath. "They've gone to Pierre's, of course." His face was set and angry. _When Paul gets home, we're going to have to have a __talk__._

"Please," Annette said, "I'm sure dis is all just a misunderstanding. Sit down. We'll have some lemonade and I made a _Gateau de Sirop._ Let's have a _visité_. The boys should be coming home and this we'll see this is all a _potain_ over not'ing."

The four adults looked at one another and Thierry, Yvette and Denis sat down as Annette bustled around getting glasses, plates and silverware, making stilted small talk and pretending not to watch the clock as the seconds ticked by.

"It's my _Papère_'s pirogue!"

"_Je m'en fiche_. You always mess up when _Nonc_ Pierre lets you pole. So I'm doing it," Paul said firmly, holding out his hand.

"No, you aren't!" Theo began poling furiously and distance opened up between them and the dock. "See, I'm doing fine!" Sometimes he resented the ease with which Paul was able to take on physical tasks. He knew his own skills weren't as great, but it grated on him when he had to hand chores such as poling over to his _ami_, and feel as though he was somehow the lesser part of their friendship because of it.

"Okay. Go ahead." Paul went back to sit in the stern of the boat, put his cap over his eyes and pretended to go to sleep. "But when you get in trouble, _boug_, don't look to me for help." He counted to himself: _un, deux, trois_ …

"Don't call me that!" Theo exploded.

Under his cap, Paul's eyes twinkled. "_P'tit boug_, that's what you are."

"I. Am. Not! I have to let _Nonc_ Marcel call me that, but you better not."

Paul grinned and lifted up his cap a little to look at Theo's flushed face and thinned lips. "T'eo, you're too easy." He settled into the boat, the cap back over his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, _ami_? If I'm so easy, how come I'm always holding you back from fighting when Willy Johnston calls us 'frog', eh, _mon vieux_?"

Still reclining, Paul shrugged. "That's different. That's a matter of _honneur_, like what _Nonc_ Pierre tells us _histoires_ about." He lived by the stories Pierre told him and Theo from his books about chivalry and the Middle Ages, and about his and Marcel's wartime experiences – stories of daring feats, bravery, caring for one's comrades, and duty. "And if you don't stop calling me _mon vieux_, I'm going to tip you over the side and have an adventure all by myself."

Suddenly, Theo realized in truth that he was having trouble with the heavy pole. He held his breath as he realized the pirogue was going down a different channel than the one they'd planned. He opened his mouth to tell Paul and ask him to help to get the boat turned around, but then stubbornly changed his mind. _Don't ask you for help? Bien. I won't_.

Denis' patience, which had worn thin the moment he knew that not only was Paul with Theo, but that the boys had also gone to see his brother, finally snapped. "This is long enough." He turned to Thierry. "They should have been back by now. Would you drive me out to Pierre's so we can bring them back? I'd gladly pay you for the ethyl."

Thierry stood. He patted Yvette on the shoulder. "Don't worry, _ma __chère_. I'm sure T'eo just forgot de time. We'll be back soon."

The two men rode to the dock in silence. "You're awfully quiet, Thierry. Something on your mind?"

Thierry stopped by Marcel's and pulled the car's levers. "You know you and I got a difference between us, Denis? I can't agree with de new laws, not one bit; me and Pierre, we are _dans le blanc des yeux_ about that. And I can't help t'inkin' what you're really _en colère_ about is that Paul and T'eo are friends. We not _bon_ enough for you anymore, _mon ami_?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you and your family; I can't believe you'd even t'in – think that. We've been friends since we were smaller than our sons. I don't have any problem with Theo either. He's a good boy. But Paul is bright, talented; he could end up doing something special with his life." Denis shook his head, exasperated. "That boy thinks the sun rises and sets on Pierre. If he had his way, he'd wind up just like my brother, cutting trees and making furniture and just barely getting by. There's no future in being on the margins as a Cajun, and I have a right to want something better than the bayou for my son."

"Pierre does all right, better than you know, maybe. I don't hear how he comes around askin' you for money, eh? Or anyone else, either. Now he's t'inkin' about getting married again –"

"He is?" Denis was surprised.

"He's been payin' mind to Charlotte Cormier, up Bayou Lafourche way. Been long enough since Francie and Michel have been gone," Thierry said, speaking of the wife and son Pierre had lost in childbirth. "About time he found someone else to love."

"Good for him." Denis was hurt that his brother hadn't bothered to tell him. _Well, maybe there's a reason for that. It isn't as though we've had any time to discuss family matters when we see each other. Mostly, we just seem to fight. Besides, between us, we've got enough pride to sink a pirogue. No wonder I didn't know._

"I listen to you talk, Denis, and you don't hardly sound like yourself no more."

"There's nothing wrong with speaking proper English."

"Hm. T'eo tells me you don't let Paulie speak _le Français_ no more around you either. You t'inkin' about maybe changing your name, eh? Maybe put another 'n' in Denis and maybe call yourself 'May' instead of 'LeMay' and they'll t'ink you're _l'anglais_?" Thierry snorted. "_Ami_, anyone can see your Paulie gonna look just like Pierre when he gets older, and Pierre has a face like a map of France. Your boy ain't never gonna be anyt'ing else." He stopped for a moment, and caught his breath and his temper. "T'ere ain't no point in running away from what you are, or lettin' folks make you ashamed of it. Me, I'm Cajun and that's the end of it. You used to be de same." He looked at Denis sternly for a long moment and then got out of the car, shutting the door with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

Denis didn't get out of the car right away. Finally, he got out and slowly followed Thierry.

In the heat of the late summer day, Paul had fallen asleep for real. He awoke to find Theo leaning over him, sweaty and tired.

"Paulie, I t'ink we're lost."

Paul jerked up. "What?"

Theo couldn't quite meet Paul's eyes. "Mais, I missed the channel back a ways."

His friend looked at him wild-eyed. "And what, you didn't t'ink to tell me?"

"You said, 'don't ask me for help', so I didn't."

"T'eo! I was just teasin' you. You know t'at!" Paul ran his hands through his hair until it was almost all on end. Then he took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back down. "Mais, let's turn the pirogue around and go back the way we came."

Theo didn't look up and Paul's heart sank. "What else is wrong?" He looked around slowly. "T'eo." Theo still didn't look at him. "T'eo, where's the pole?"

"I dropped it in the water."

"You dropped it." For a moment, Paul was silent. The only sound was the 'neeka-neek' of the treefrogs, the croaking of the _wawaron_ and the distant splash of a 'gator going into the water. "T'eo, right after I get out of my room again, prob'ly about de time I make 21 or so, I'm gonna look you up and murder you."

"_Mo chagren_, Paulie." Theo, whispered, very nearly in tears.

Paul sighed. _Wait until __Nonc__ Pierre hears about this. He's gonna be so mad at me._ "_C'est bien_, T'eo." He stepped carefully over the seats of the boat and picked up the bag that had the remains of the lunch. He came back, sat by his friend and rummaged through it. Grinning, he said. "'Ey! No point in being lost and hungry. Want a _beignet_?" As he looked away from the other boy, his grin faded and his eyes darkened. _We're in a lot of trouble._

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**BEST LAID PLANS – Chapter 2**

[Louisiana, Summer 1925]

The ticking seemed to grow louder by the moment. Denis and Thierry avoided looking at the clock on Marcel's mantel and at each other, and barely touched the glasses of iced tea Marcel's young wife, Lisette, had given them while they waited for Marcel to return home. Thierry paced back and forth and Denis jumped at every sound.

_Oh, Paul, what did you do? Where are you?_ Politics and language, for once, were very far from Denis' thoughts. Growing to manhood in the bayou had taught him all the possible dangers the boys faced, from gators to escaped convicts to drowning or sinking into a bog … Denis wiped his face with a handkerchief. There was worry in his eyes and fear for his son.

Thierry stopped pacing and turned to his friend. "Denis, who knows when Marcel and Pierre will come back? And even if dey were right here, right now, dere's too many places to look for just four men. We got to call Sheriff Breaux. He can get us up a posse and help us narrow down where dey could have gone."

Denis nodded wearily. "Yes. Let's get help."

Thierry turned and left the small house to find the Sheriff.

"Don't worry, Mr. LeMay. _Le Bon Dieu_, he watches out for the little ones. He'll bring T'eo and your Paulie back just fine." Lisette watched him from her chair.

"Thank you, Lisette." Denis tried to smile and failed. "I hope you're right."

Annette paced back and forth; despite Yvette's reassurance that if anything was truly wrong, they would have been told, her mother's instinct told her that her son was in trouble. _Paulie is mischievous, yes, but he knows when to come home and if he could, he would be here by now. Same for T'eo. Oh, Holy Mother, __gardez__ mon __fils__ et son __ami__!_

There was a knock on the door. Annette ran to open it, only to find Anne LeMercier waiting nervously, her young son Armand with her. "I thought you might need someone, Annette. T'e sheriff, he call up the men to go find your Paulie and T'eo Dubois –"

They heard a gasp behind them, and the sound of someone falling.

"_Pauvre_ Yvette. Looks like she got t'e _faiblesse_." Anne told her son to sit down and she and Annette went to help. As they did, Ysabelle and Paulette Aucoin showed up at the door; Francie Hebert was coming up the sidewalk.

"Annette, we heard. What can we do?"

Paul poked Theo, who had fallen asleep against him. "T'eo, we gotta figure out some way to get home." Looking around, he realized he didn't recognize any landmarks, and the pirogue, still caught in the fringes of the current which had pulled them off-course, was moving them further away from home with every minute.

"What time it is?" Theo yawned.

"'Ey, T'eo. I got no idea. If I hadda guess, I'd say about _six __heures__ et demi_." He looked at his friend, worried. "T'eo, you all right?"

"I'm not feelin' so good, Paulie." The heat of the day and the effort he had put into poling finally had caught up with the boy. He smiled wanly at Paul. "What you want me to do?"

"Nothin', T'eo. You just rest."

"I can do that!" Theo's attempt at nonchalance was a pale shadow of his earlier exuberance.

Paul bit his lip. _Mama always says we should keep cool in the heat and have lots to drink._ He dipped back into the lunch sack and pulled out what was left of a bottle of lemonade. "Here, Theo. I had more t'an my share earlier. Besides, I'm not really t'irsty. You can have dis."

Theo took it, and then stopped to look at his friend. "You sure, Paulie?"

Paul gave Theo his best grin. "Yep. I'm fine." He took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, then he carefully and quickly dipped it into the water and wrung it out. Brushing Theo's hair back from his brow, he wiped his friend's face. "You go up and lay down for awhile. Don't worry; I'm gonna t'ink of something."

As Theo moved to the bow, Paul moved to the stern. He bit his lip and looked over the side. _I wonder if I can paddle with my hands in t'e water. It's an awful heavy boat, bigger than_Nonc_Pierre's._ He started to reach down when a shadow moved smoothly under the boat and toward the shore. Caimon_!_ _If I'm not careful, I won't be around for_Papa_to yell at me. _He jerked his hand back and rolled over to look at the slowly darkening sky. _What do I do now?_

A group of the men from the parish stood in Marcel's kitchen, listening to the sheriff as he reviewed a map of the area. "We need two men to check out dis channel, here." Michel Caissy and Joe Cormier raised their hands. He nodded at them. "_Bon._"

A thump outside announced the arrival of a pirogue. Thierry and Denis jumped up as they heard Marcel's and Pierre's voices. They heard Marcel say, "What are all dese _peeros_ doin' here, eh?"

"Marcel!" Thierry went to the door.

"Thierry! What you doin' here?"

"Have you seen T'eo?"

"And Paul?" Denis came up beside Thierry.

"Paulie … has something happened to Paulie?" Pierre's voice was tense with alarm as he and Marcel entered the house.

"Have you seen them?"

"Not since this morning … dey came by and wanted to borrow my pirogue – to have an adventure, dey said."

Thierry and Denis looked at each other.

"I didn't give it to them, _alors pas_!" Pierre said, exasperated. "Denis, even you can't believe I'd be that _stupide_! I sent dem home to play; said we'd go shrimping on Saturday."

Denis growled at his brother in unthinking fury, "As though I'd let him go anywhere wit' you! _Gar ici_, he'd be home safe now if you didn't encourage him in runnin' t'e bayou."

Pierre's face darkened. "Careful, Denis. Keep talkin' like t'at and people will think you're Cajun."

Thierry stepped between them. "Stop it! This ain't helpin' the boys." He turned to his brother's friend. "Pierre, when t'ey leave your place this morning?"

Pierre squeezed the bridge of his nose, thinking. "It hadda be, what, _dix heures et demi_?" Marcel nodded. "But they were heading back this way, and where would they get a pirogue anyway?"

"What kin' of 'adventure'?" Sheriff Breaux broke in.

"What?" Pierre was taken off-balance.

"The boys – what kin' of adventure they t'ink of havin'?"

Marcel broke in. "T'eo said somet'in' about Joe Caissy and there bein' treasure somewhere."

Allain Caissy, Joe's father, stood. "Joe's just down t'e street. I'll talk to him." He exited quickly.

Another pirogue docked outside, and the men froze. Then they heard a tuneless humming and everyone relaxed. Denis and Pierre forgot their anger long enough to exchange a look of mixed mutual annoyance and humor.

Andre LeMay came in and looked around at the group. "What's all the _potain_, eh?"

Pierre answered his father. "Paulie and T'eo are missing. They went out in the bayou without permission."

Andre shook his head. "Doesn't sound like Paulie. He's no _possédé_. Or T'eo either."

"They asked me for my pirogue this morning and now we can't find them."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "T'en maybe I do know somethin'. Went by Jacques Dubois' place a bit ago, watching out for his home like he as'ed me to do. His pirogue ain't t'ere."

Denis shook his head angrily. "Paul wouldn't have done that without encouragement." He glared at his brother. "You have him wanting to be like you. Now we see what comes of it."

Andre sneered at his oldest son. "Who let _l'etranger_ in? Ain't we Cajun here?" There were a few quiet snickers around the room and Denis paled in fury. His father stepped forward and shook his finger in Denis' face. "You stop givin' your brother de _misère_, you hear? If Paulie gets through this _bien_, it'll be because of what Pierre taught him about the bayou. What'd you ever show him that would help him now? Eh? How to wear a tie? Or work in an office?"

"_Papa_." Pierre caught Andre's arm. "Don't. _Vous ne aidez pas._" He led the older man to the table where the Sheriff's map was. "Which way you come?"

"T'is way, here." Andre pointed to a channel from the north. "Too light for me to miss a _peero_ grounded or upside down. Dey ain't t'ere."

Marcel moved to beside Pierre. "We came in t'is way and we were here, cuttin' earlier. We couldn't have missed 'em. So not dere, eit'er."

One by one, the other men of the parish came forward and pointed out channels or other places they'd been that afternoon. Slowly, they eliminated section after section of the bayou.

Thierry spoke up. "Marcel, I'm t'inkin' that if t'e boys took _Papa_'s pirogue, knowing T'eo, he'd want to pole."

Pierre looked up, alarmed. "Paulie knows better."

"I know, Pierrot. T'eo, he ain't so good with the pole. But he's stubborn – and proud." He shook his head.

Allain Caissy came back in. "I talk to Joe 'bout t'at 'treasure' nonsense," he said grimly. "He said he told 'em it was down dis channel," pointing to one of the few places on the map which hadn't been eliminated. "But there's a little channel here, and there's a bad, bad current there. Easy to get pulled off course, not so easy to get out, even for _un homme_. Just boys, t'ey'd be in trouble easy."

Pierre nodded. "I know exactly where that is. Marcel and me, we're going." He stopped. "And Marcel, bring your scattergun and shells, just in case."

Denis stood. "I'm going, too."

"And me." Thierry rose, behind him.

"_Papa_, Thierry and Denis need your _peero_."

"Go ahead."

Theo was scaring his friend. He was shaking and pale, and even Paul knew enough to feel Theo's forehead and know he was badly overheated. He looked around desperately for anything he could reach and use to row and steer the pirogue out. The _caimon_made passes under the boat at regular intervals, and Paul knew he could never be able to swim safely to the shore and back with a branch or fallen tree, let alone look for the pole Theo had dropped. _It's probably all de way back where T'eo got caught by the current_.

He sighed deeply. _It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why didn't T'eo say anything? Why didn't I just take the pole from him?_ He knew _Nonc_ Pierre would be disappointed with him. And _Papa_ – Paul was sure his father would never let him set foot in the bayou again.

There was a thump on the boat and it rocked alarmingly. The _caimon_ circled around again, and headed back for the boat. In the bow, Theo murmured but didn't awaken. Paul clenched his jaw and took out the jackknife _Nonc_ Pierre gave him for Christmas. He carefully opened the largest blade and looked at it. _I don't know if it'll do much to hurt the_caimon_, but I'm gonna try, for me and for T'eo_. He looked back at his friend. Ami, _I'm glad you're not awake to be afraid._

He braced himself as the gator neared the boat, and as he raised the knife with both hands, he started to sing.

Pierre had never poled a pirogue as fast as he and Marcel were moving now. The wind whistled past his ears and blinded him a little, but he steered surely toward the channel where they believed the boys were. He slowed a little to allow Thierry and Denis to catch up.

Marcel nudged him. "Listen!"

In the distance, down the channel, he could dimly hear Paulie's voice, singing the song Marcel had taught him, with different words. "_Caimon, caimon, où vas-tu? À l'abattoir. Quand reviendras-tu?__Jamais!" _He handed the pole to Marcel and took the shotgun to load it. "GO!"

As they rounded the turn, Pierre saw his nephew in the distance, hands raised in the air, eyes intent on the water. They rapidly closed on the boys' boat and as they came close, Marcel braked the pirogue. Thierry and Denis stopped beside them. Pierre looked where Paul was watching, sighted on the gatorin the water and fired. Marcel shipped and balanced the pole to keep the boat from capsizing.

Paul looked up at his uncle for a long moment, and then dropped his knife, jumped from his boat into Pierre's and hugged him tightly.

"_Nonc_ Pierre, _Nonc_ Pierre, _mo chagren_. I didn't mean for dis to happen. You gotta help T'eo. He's sick."

"'Ey, 'ey, _p'tit._ Easy. Easy now. It's gonna be all right. _Chut,_ _p'tit._" Pierre held him for a long moment. Then he heard Denis over his shoulder.

"Paul!"

Paulie looked up at his _Nonc_ and then stepped away toward his father. "Yes, _Papa_."

Denis lifted his son over the side into Andre's pirogue and hugged him fiercely. "_Mon Dieu_, Paul. You're all right. You're all right."

"Yes, sir." There was no emotion in Paul's voice. "Please, help T'eo."

"I have him, Paulie." Thierry gently cradled his son. "Marcel, take us back." He stepped into Marcel's boat, and Pierre got into the boat with Denis and Paul. The Dubois men poled back the way they had come, leaving the three LeMays behind. Pierre leaned over and reached into Jacques Dubois' pirogue, picked up Paul's knife, folded it, put it into Paul's hand and gently closed his nephew's fingers around it. He used his pole to block Jacques' boat into the shore and turned to the boy.

"Paulie, where's de pole for Jacques' pirogue?"

"T'eo dropped it, I don't know where. I was – asleep." He kept his head lowered. Almost the first thing he'd been taught when Pierre took him and Theo out on the water was to stay alert to help Theo, if necessary. When Paul finally met his eyes, Pierre let him see his disappointment.

Denis reached for their pole, but Pierre stopped him. "_Non, mon frère._ You take care of your son," he said quietly. He was perceptive enough to see the pain in Denis' eyes because Paul had not turned to him first for comfort. _Denis, I'm sorry. I got some t'inking to do_.

That night, Annette and Denis watched Paul as he slept uneasily, twitching and mumbling. Denis knew that Paul would have to be punished, but he hadn't the heart to do it now. _Tomorrow's time enough._

His wife touched his shoulder. "Marcel came by while you were taking Paul to his room. He says Theo is dehydrated and has a touch of heatstroke, but he's going to be fine."

"Good."

They walked together to their room.

"You haven't said much. Was it bad?"

"It could have been. It could have been very bad. Paul was ready to take on an alligator with just the pocketknife Pierre gave him." Denis sat on his bed and stared at the floor.

"_Mon Dieu."_ Annette crossed herself in shock.

"When we got there, it was Pierre who shot the 'gator." He took his shoes off and stood to put them in the closet. "And it was Pierre Paul turned to, not me, for comfort." He shook his head. "My bright boy, my hope. I'm losing him, Annette, if I haven't lost him already."

"He'd show you love too, _mon mari_, but it seems as though you're always disciplining him. He has to think you only see the bad things and never the good. If you encouraged him, praised him, I think things would be different." She paused and bit her lip, not sure if this was the time to say what was really on her heart. _I have to. Someone does._ "Denis, he's Cajun and proud of it. He doesn't understand all the grownup laws. When you stop him from speakin' French or say that you don't want him in the bayou or around T'eo, all he hears is like you're sayin' none of us are any good. He'll never listen to that, Denis, never. Not for a job; not for all the futures you could ever plan for him. What's real to him is the people he loves – us, Pierre, T'eo, his _Papère_ LeMay, even Marcel and the rest of T'eo's family. Not some career that he's not thinking about, that's 20 years away."

Denis' expression became stubborn. "Someone has to think about it, Annette. I could tell you stories about what I've seen, experienced even –"

"Yes, you could. And I could tell you a few – you t'ink they treat us women any better? But there are always going to be stupid, bigoted people, Denis. It doesn't mean we have to let dem run our lives."

Denis looked at her, surprised. "No, maybe we don't." He stretched. "Let's go to bed. We have tomorrow to discuss this."

"Yes. You, me, Hélène, Paulie – we've all got tomorrows. _Le Bon Dieu_ willing, we've got lots of them."

After Mass the following Sunday, Denis went into Paul's room. He had scolded and reprimanded his son the day before to such an extent that he had nearly lost his voice. He'd ordered Paul to write a letter of apology to the sheriff for what he and Theo had done, and another to Jacques Dubois for running off with the pirogue, although Thierry had told him privately that Jacques had roared with laughter when he was told of Theo and Paul's "adventure", once he knew the pair was safe. Today, he just wanted to talk to Paul. There were things Denis needed to say and his son needed to hear.

"_Papa_." Paul was quiet and perfectly respectful, but Denis could still hear the lack of feeling in his voice. He sighed quietly.

"Paul." Denis paused. He didn't quite know how to begin. "There are some things that need said between us. Things we've never talked about. Mostly I have just talked at you, I think. I want to try to change that, if I can."

Paul looked up at his father, judgment suspended for the moment, listening. "Yes, sir?"

"You know that I have had a difference of opinion – mostly with your Uncle Pierre – about most of the things that go with being Cajun and what that means."

His son nodded, jaw set.

"I think, from listening to you, and watching you, that you don't agree with me. Am I right?"

Paul nodded again. Then he raised his hand, as if in school.

"Go ahead, Paul. I want to know what you're thinking."

"You do?" the boy said, immense surprise in his voice.

"Yes, I do," Denis said gently.

Paul thought for a moment. "I don't like how you say being Cajun is bad. It's like you mean I'm bad or _Non_ – Uncle Pierre is, or Theo or Theo's family, or even Mama or _Papère_. Like you agree with the people who think we're just no-account." He swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "We're not bad just because we're Cajuns!"

"I'm sorry if that's what I made you feel. It's not that." Denis struggled to explain. "It's only – I look at you and I see that you're smart, gifted and energetic. You could do so much with your life, but people won't give you a chance if all they see is 'Cajun'." He held up his hand to forestall Paul's objection. "I'm not saying I agree with them. We know that being Cajun isn't bad, but unfortunately it's what people think that counts when you're trying to make your way. I could tell you stories about what I've had said to me and about me to my face and behind my back, and maybe I will some day. I don't want you to have to hear those things too. And as your father, I want you to be able to use all the abilities you have to their fullest, with nothing to keep you from succeeding. Do you understand?"

"I guess so."

The two of them sat silently for a moment.

"There's another thing. Paul, I think it would be better if you didn't go into the bayou to see your uncle for awhile."

Paul looked up at his father in shock. "No, please! Why?"

"I feel you spend too much time with Pierre. You don't know how much it hurt me to see you go to him first when we came to find you and Theo. Why you did that -"

His son said something under his breath.

Denis' face hardened. "What did you say?"

Paul refused to look at his father. "I said, maybe because he loves me and you don't."

"I don't love you? I don't love you?" Denis stood abruptly. "How can you say that?"

"'Cause. I brought home a paper with a 98 on it, and you only asked why I didn't get 100. I was the lead in the school play and you told me I was wasting my time. I'll be taking French next year – French French, not Cajun French – in school and you won't let me speak it. You don't want me to be with my best friend – only with boys who hate me because I'm not _l'anglais_. I can never do my chores right, no matter how I try. You make me feel like I can't ever do anything right." His voice quieted. "And when I need to talk, you never have time. You always say 'later'." He looked at his father directly. "_Nonc_Pierre always listens to me; even when he's busy, he always has time for me."

"Paul. " Denis let his shoulders slump, defeated. "I'm sorry. I truly didn't realize. Maybe sometimes I want to see you do your best that I forget – other things." He was silent for a moment. "Son, I need you to give me a chance to change. It won't happen overnight, but I want to try." He reached out and lifted Paul's chin so their eyes met. "Let's compromise, you and I. I won't stop you from speaking French if you spend less time with Pierre. He's getting married again, did you know that?"

Paul nodded.

"He'll want time with his wife after the wedding. This will be a good time for you and I to try to work out our differences."

"Yes, _Papa_. But I have to tell _Nonc_ Pierre myself that I agreed to this, please. I don't want him to be even madder at you." Paul looked at his father squarely. "I hate it when you fight with each other. I liked it when he'd come over after work in the evenings. Even after I went to bed I could hear the two of you out on the side porch laughing and talking together." He considered. "It felt good, like when it gets a little chilly in December and I come in the house after school and Mama's got supper on in the kitchen and there's a fire and we're all warm and safe."

Denis looked at Paul and slowly nodded. "All right, son. Go ahead." He ruffled his Paul's hair. "I know what you mean. I miss that, too."

Paul smiled at his father. _I hope you mean that, Papa. I really do._

Pierre was sitting on the pier outside his home and workshop whittling, when he heard the splash of a pirogue being poled.

Michel Caissy slowed his boat to a stop and looked up at the younger man. "'Ey, Pierre! I got me _un __vaurien_ here who wants to talk to you. You armed and ready?" He roared in amusement and the boy in his pirogue turned red.

"Yes," Pierre said, amused. "I t'ink I can handle him. Send him up."

Paul climbed the ladder slowly. "_Nonc_Pierre, I gotta talk to you." He sat down next to his uncle, his feet dangling over the edge of the pier, and looked up at him. "_Papa_ and I talked after – well, after."

"I figured you would." He turned the piece of wood in his hands without looking at his nephew, made a small adjustment with the knife and carefully blew wood dust and fragments away to scatter on the water.

"He wants me to spend less time with you, and I said I would. Not because I don't want to be around you, or anyt'ing like t'at, but so he and I can make things better between us. Also, 'cause you're getting married and you'll want to have time den, too."

"I see." Pierre put his work down, folded his knife and put it in his trouser pocket. "Dat's very grown up of you, Paulie."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No." His uncle picked up the small, half-finished carving and reviewed it without looking at Paul. "I was scared for you and worried about you. You won't understand that until you're an adult with a child in your life you care about. And I'm disappointed in you. I would never have t'ought you would take another man's pirogue like that wit'out askin'. Or that you would leave T'eo with de pole and go to sleep when you know how much trouble he has. I expected better of you, Paulie."

Paul flushed with shame, and his head drooped. "_Mo chagren._ Really! I didn't want anything to happen to Theo. He's my best _ami_. And I didn't mean to do anything that would make you think I was _mauvais_."

Pierre took a deep breath. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ "Paulie - you know your _Papa_ doesn't want you speaking French."

"No, he said I could. We, we compro – something. Since I'll be taking French in school."

"Compromised."

"Yes, compromised." Paul looked up at his uncle. "You are mad at me, aren't you?"

"No, really, Paulie, I'm not. But you know, your _Papa_ was hurt because you came to me first after we found you."

Paul stared at the water below the pier. "I know, he told me."

"Marcel and I had a head start and we were a little faster. We got there first, and so I was the one who shot de _caimon_. But your _Papa_ was right behind us with T'eo's _Papa_. If he had been dere first and had de gun, he would have done de same t'ing to save you."

"But _Papa_ doesn't shoot guns." Paul was puzzled.

Pierre said drily, "Once upon a time, Paulie, your _Papa_ was a better shot t'an me. The Army and the war changed t'at." He paused. "I didn't realize how t'ings were between the two of you, not really. My disagreements with Denis meant I didn't look past my own anger with him and that was wrong." He turned to look at his nephew. "I'm not your _Papa_ and I shouldn't be more important to you t'an he is."

"I know dat, too. But you were dere when I needed you … and _Papa_ wasn't always." He watched his _nonc_; his eyes were steady, but his lip was trembling. "You're not gonna stop lovin' me, are you?" He held himself still.

Pierre's voice was very quiet and compassionate. "Oh, no, Paulie. Not t'at. Never t'at. I'll always be here if you need me." He looked at Paul, seriously. "But you should always go to your _papa_ first. Promise?"

"Yes, sir. Promise." He put out his hand and Pierre shook it. "Just don't forget me when I'm not here all de time, okay?"

"Forget one of de _deux_ _terreurs du Bayou Liberté_? Never!" He grabbed Paul to give him a Dutch rub.

The boy yelped happily and put up a mock struggle. "Stop it, _Nonc_Pierre!"

Their laughter echoed through the channels of the bayou, and even the _caimons_ lifted their heads to listen.

- 30 -


End file.
